








Parables of Life 





Class JPS^-SSS- 

Book :p.3_ 

Copyright N!*,,, 

COPYRIGHT DEPOStr. 



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Parables of Life 



Parables of Life 



Hamilton Wright Mabie 



New York 

The Outlook Company 

1902 



THE LiBHtARY eF 
GONG.TESS, 

Two C':viw ..ioeivE* 

MAR. 24 1902 

COI»V«HB»iT ENTRY 
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Copyright, 1902, by 
The Outlook Company 



THE DEVINNE PRESS 



To 
Lyman Abbott 



Contents 



The Inflexible Guide 
The Waiting Figure 
The Last Judgment 
Behind the Mask . . 
At the End of the Journey 
That Which Abides 
The Touch of Nature . 
Out of the Agony . . 
Dream and ReaUty . 
Out of Pain .... 
The Awakening . 



9 
19 

25 
31 
37 
45 
S3 
63 
71 
81 

95 



THE INFLEXIBLE GUIDE 



THE INFLEXIBLE GUIDE 

THEY stood together in a fra- 
grant garden, Love holding 
the child by the hand and looking 
down into its face with a tender- 
ness so deep that it held in its heart 
the compassion, the sacrifice, the 
passionate yearning of universal 
motherhood. Long ago Love had 
come into the world, and through 
immemorial years she had walked 
the stony and terrible ways of life 
with innumerable children, but the 
light of heaven had not vanished 
from her face and the purity of 

II 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

God lay inviolate in the depths of 
her beautiful eyes. There was so 
much gaiety in her mood that 
sunny morning, such joy radiated 
from her face, that the child thought 
his companion the most winning 
playfellow in the world. In those 
deep eyes, luminous with devotion, 
no denial could find a home ; 
within those tender and protecting 
arms no sorrow or bitterness could 
come ! So Love always seems to 
those who watch her face and do 
not know her heart. Two things 
Love learned in heaven: infinite 
tenderness and perfect loyalty to 
truth. The child saw the play of 
the tenderness rising like a great 

12 



THE INFLEXIBLE GUIDE 

tide from unfathomable springs; far 
beyond, in the years that were to 
come, he was to learn the deeper 
compassion of truth. 

The journey lengthened and still 
the boy looked up to the face of 
Love, and Love smiled like an un- 
clouded sun. But there came a 
time when he would walk alone 
and find his own way, and the boy 
loosed his hand from the hand of 
Love and chose another path. Un- 
seen, Love still walked beside him 
and stood between him and many 
a peril, and in the darkness made a 
light about him which came the 
man knew not whence. But the 
face of Love was often infinitely 

13 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

sad, and sometimes there shone 
through its beautiful tenderness a 
flash of white hght which smote 
the very heart of the man, so that 
he cried out in pain and turned to 
Love to be comforted ; and, be- 
hold ! the hand of Love grasped his 
as firmly as before, but there was 
infinite sternness, touched with pas- 
sionate sorrow, in her eyes. And 
while the man looked to be led 
gently in fragrant places. Love 
guided him along perilous preci- 
pices and over bitter roads and up 
great heights, relentlessly urging 
him forward, herself silent, resolute, 
inflexible. And the man rebelled 
in his heart and strove to free him- 

14 



"THE INFLEXIBLE GUIDE 

self, and cried out that another had 
usurped the place of Love and 
stolen her raiment. And Love made 
no answer, but strode on, inflexible 
as the will of God and terrible as 
his purity. Her face was turned 
away and the man did not see the 
anguish there, the drops of blood, 
the print of thorns; did not know 
that his suffering was but a shadow 
of the pain in the heart of Love, 
and the weariness of the way on his 
soul but a dim reflection of its bit- 
terness in hers. By as much as her 
heart was deeper and her spirit 
purer than his was her cross heavier 
and her anguish more poignant. 
He suffered because the way was 

15 



PARABLES OF LIFE 

hard; she suffered because the end 
of it was shame and misery and 
death. 

As he strove to break away, she 
held his hand the more firmly; as 
he strove to find the easier path, she 
implacably set his fiset in the harder 
road. He thought her harsh and 
stern and unseeing ; and her eyes 
were wide with the terror of that 
to which he was blind, and in her 
agony she wept great tears of an- 
guish. 

And when the man found she 
would not leave him, he ceased to 
resist and let her take her way ; 
and after a little the road began to 
grow easier, the ascent less precipi- 

i6 



rHE INFLEXIBLE GUIDE 

tous, the trial of strength less pain- 
ful. And presently they came to 
a height, and the man looked back 
and saw whither the path he had 
meant to take led, and he shud- 
dered and fell at the feet of the 
inflexible and terrible figure at his 
side. And again, as in childhood, 
he looked up into the face of his 
guide ; and, behold ! Love smiled 
down on him with eyes full of in- 
finite tenderness. 



17 



THE WAITING FIGURE 



THE WAITING FIGURE 

A HOST of stars watching in 
the vast silence of the night; 
the earth, a great ball, still and 
white and dim with sleep, sweeping 
through illimitable space; fading 
in the distance the long, faint glow 
of time, visible for a moment like 
a beam of light on a measureless 
sea; suddenly an apparition, born 
of the night and the stars and the 
endless movement of the years as 
they steal out of eternity and recede 
again into its depths, which every 
man sees and no one knows. The 

21 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

figure is vague, mysterious, veiled 
from head to foot in soft radiancy ; 
a form undefined and elusive, but 
with hidden nobility of line, molded 
like a goddess, and like a goddess 
shielded from the intimate gaze ot 
men. About this sublime figure 
floats a mist, in which light and 
darkness are magically blended, half 
revealing and half concealing, as if 
a soul were in the process of birth 
— a soul penetrated with strange, 
dim, obscure radiations of the re- 
mote past, and waiting for the plas- 
tic touch of the future; old as the 
stars, but wearing the garb of im- 
mortal youth; bearing the impress 
of immemorial years, and yet sensi- 

22 



"THE ^JITING FIGURE 

tive to the stir of the forces that 
play through the life of to-day, and 
to the shaping touch of to-morrow. 
A mysterious figure, seen by all and 
known by none, with a face that 
seems on the verge of clear revela- 
tion into familiar features, with in- 
timations of lifelong acquaintance, 
and yet waiting for some final act 
of creation, some touch that shall 
define and fix and turn the plastic 
stuff of life into perfect distinctness 
and immortality. Beside every man 
the figure seems to stand silent, ex- 
pectant, mysterious ; waiting the 
impress of his hand ; full of all no- 
bility of line and feature; a shape 
for the touch of genius to mold 

23 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

into a beauty akin with the stars, 
and yet at the mercy of the hand 
that strikes bHndly, passionately, 
idly, ignobly; the stuff of immor- 
tality waiting for myriad-handed 
time to mar or glorify ; coming 
from the Infinite to set the eternal 
beauty again in the ways of men, 
or to bear again the old marks of 
those who waste and spoil and de- 
stroy the fair visions of the soul: 
the veiled figure of the New Year, 
standing mysterious and silent be- 
side every man, under the vast and 
solemn arch of the midnight sky. 



24 



THE LAST JUDGMENT 



THE LAST JUDGMENT 

SLOWLY and painlessly con- 
sciousness returned. He looked 
about him and remembered. It 
seemed but a moment, and yet the 
life he had lived on earth was as 
far from him as if he had died a 
century ago. In the stillness and 
the measureless quiet which en- 
folded him after those last agoniz- 
ing hours he knew that he had 
already entered into rest. So deep 
was the peace which fell softly as 
if from the vast heights above him 
that he felt no curiosity and was 

27 



PARABLES OF LIFE 

without fear. He was in a new 
life and he must find his place in 
it, but he was content to wait; and 
while he waited his thought went 
swiftly back to the days when, a 
little child, he looked up at the sky 
and wondered if the stars were the 
lights in the streets of heaven. One 
by one the years rose out of the 
depths of his memory and he re- 
called, step by step, all the way he 
had come: childhood, youth, man- 
hood, and age. He read with deep- 
ening interest the story of his life 
— all his thoughts, his words, the 
things he had done and left undone. 
And as he read he knew what was 
good and what was ill; everything 

28 



rHE LAST judgment: 

was clear, not only in the unbroken 
record of what he had been, but in 
a sudden perception of what he 
was. At last he knew himself. 
And while he pondered one stood 
beside him, grave and calm and 
sweet with the purity that is per- 
fect strength. Into the face which 
turned toward him, touched with 
the light of immortal joy, he looked 
up and asked, " When shall I be 
judged?" 

And the answer came: "You 
have judged yourself. You may 
go where you will." 



29 



BEHIND THE MASK 



BEHIND THE MASK 

A FIERCE wind beating against 
the trees and lashing them 
with merciless severity ; vast drifts 
of snow filling every hollow and 
drifting aimlessly from point to 
point; the landscape white and 
bleak from horizon to horizon, 
locked by the cold into desolate 
stillness, without sound or sight of 
life from sky to sky across the world ; 
the heavens cold, steel-blue, re- 
*mote, inaccessible, penetrated by an 
arctic chill ; the air bitter, remorse- 
less, with a hint of death in the icy 



PARABLES OF LIFE 

breath of the gale ; everywhere si- 
lence save for the rush of the wind ; 
everywhere bonds and fetters and 
desolation : hard, glittering, inex- 
orable Death supreme in earth and 
air. 

So it looked to the solitary man 
who braced himself to meet the 
force of the gale, and, in the par- 
tial shelter of a great oak, gazed 
across the shining fields to the hills 
whose lines, in the crystalline air, 
seemed to cut into the blue. So it 
would have been, in reality, to a 
man less wise in the wisdom of 
Nature. This man smiled as he 
looked, and, if Nature had been 
less intent on her work far away, 

34 



BEHIND THE MASK 

she too would have smiled ; for we 
always smile when some one recog- 
nizes us behind our masks. This 
man knew the mask so well that, 
perfect as was its counterfeit of 
death, he was not for a moment in 
doubt. He knew that behind the 
mask life was pulsing, coursing, 
throbbing, beating, gathering vol- 
ume for a tide that should presently 
break like a fountain out of the 
depths of the earth and strew the 
world with flowers from sky to sky. 
Behind that mask, secure from all 
prying eyes, from profane curiosity, 
from the cold searching of the fact- 
gatherer, the ancient mysteries were 
being enacted the primeval miracle 

35 



PJRABLES OF LIFE 

was being wrought again; in dark- 
ness and silence all things were 
moving to birth ; behind the face 
of Death, Life was passionately 
brooding over the radiant loveliness 
asleep in her heart. 



36 



AT THE END OF THE 
JOURNEY 



AT THE END OF THE 
JOURNEY 

SHE had come a long way, and 
the fatigue of the journey was 
on her face and the stains of it on 
her garments. She walked slowly 
and painfully, and in her uncertain 
step there was the record of leagues 
of travel. She had forgotten many 
hardships, for memory often sleeps 
in order that the spirit whose record 
it keeps may regain lost strength 
and refill the depleted lamp of life; 
but she remembered many bitter 
griefs, and the hand of sorrow had 

39 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

left a visible impress on her coun- 
tenance. And the way had long 
been lonely as well as sorrowful; 
for they who set out with her had 
vanished from her side, and she had 
gone on in a solitude that seemed to 
deepen about her. Far behind, as 
she traveled on, was the glow of 
the morning light, once gloriously 
glad over the whole earth, now faint 
and distant as the light of a sun 
that has long set. And after the 
morning passed there had come 
midday with its heat, its far-reach- 
ing activities, its strenuous energy, 
its deepening experience; and after 
noontide, evening ; and so long had 
she traveled in the darkness, the 

40 



at: the end of the journet 

little group about her silently steal- 
ing away one by one from her side, 
that it seemed to her as if it had 
always been night and she had al- 
ways been alone. Of late she had 
lost the feeling of motion, although 
she was conscious that the landscape 
about her was changing. 

She had set out with a high spirit 
and with a deep sense of joy in ac- 
tion and movement and life; but 
years and sorrows had saddened her, 
and she had come to think of her- 
self not only as weary and alone, 
but old. There was bitterness in 
the thought because it seemed a 
denial of her nature. In youth the 
fountain of life in her soul had 

41 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

seemed inexhaustible; and in later 
years, when the rare times of rest 
from grief and travel came, it had 
leaped up and sent a gush of joy to 
her heart. But now, for a long 
time, there had been no stir of the 
waters, and age had touched all that 
she possessed; and so, traveling 
slowly and painfully with set pur- 
pose but with fading hope, she came 
one dark night to the gate which 
closes the road. She knocked feebly 
and the gate swung wide on noise- 
less hinges. No one stood beside 
it, for it marked neither end nor 
beginning of journey, and the road 
ran straight through it unbroken 
and unchanged, save that a soft light 

42 



Ai: THE END OF THE JOURNET 

rested on it and in the air there was 
infinite content. No landscape was 
visible for the mist that lay over it, 
and no sounds were heard; but 
when one passed through, he knew 
without knowing that nature 
bloomed there with a fulfilled love- 
liness, and he heard without hear- 
ing the songs of birds which are 
never hushed by wintry skies. The 
woman rested within the gate, and 
as she rested she was conscious of 
no change in herself, but the raiment 
which she had worn thin and bare 
fell away and vanished, and she saw 
that the fading and fraying and 
wearing away had despoiled only 
her garments and left her untouched ; 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

and as she rested, the Unes vanished 

from her face and the pain from her 

limbs, and silently the fountain rose 

once more. The stains of travel 

were gone, the signs of age had 

vanished; once more young, but 

with a wisdom beyond youth, she 

started with buoyant step and with | 

a rising hope in her heart; for 

through the soft mist beautiful forms | 

seemed to be moving, and faint and 

far she heard voices that seemed to 

come out of her childhood, fresh I 

with the freshness of the morning, 

and her spirit grew faint for joy at 

the sound of them. 



44 



THAT WHICH ABIDES 



THAT WHICH ABIDES 

THE throng was moving on 
without order and apparently 
without purpose; though here and 
there in the crowd there were faces 
set toward some invisible goal, and 
eyes which glowed with exaltation 
and shone like stars in a heavenly 
order. The road was broad, rough, 
and full of pitfalls ; low clouds 
hung over it, sometimes lifting and 
showing a clear sky, sometimes 
settling about it so closely that its 
boundaries vanished in obscurity. 
The throng swept along as if driven 

47 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

forward by some inward impulse ; a 
few pressing on with steady step; 
many hurrying or loitering as the 
mood seized them ; and here and 
there one vanished with despairing 
face into the fog and was seen no 
more. Some ran freely, with buoy- 
ant and active step ; many wavered, 
broke from the crowd, rested awhile, 
and then patiently set out again. 
And ever and anon, in the hurry or 
the loitering, one stumbled and fell 
and lay prone, bewildered and ex- 
hausted; or rose again, stunned and 
hurt and soiled, and slipped back 
into the crowd and was swallowed 
up in the disorderly ranks. 

One there was who seemed born 

48 



"THJT ^HICH JBIDES 

to run well and with speed, and at 
times he shot far ahead as if he saw 
his goal; then, when the light was 
on his face, he stumbled and fell 
headlong and lay apparently with- 
out consciousness. But after a time 
he lifted himself and looked about 
him with despair on his face. Some- 
times a hand was stretched out 
toward him; oftener the throng 
swept on and left him prone in the 
mire. He staggered to his feet and 
began to walk slowly, as if in great 
pain ; and he was filled with shame, 
for his garments were defiled from 
head to foot and he was one mass 
of uncleanness. And some who 
were near drew away, that their 

49 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

own raiment might not be defiled; 
and he crept on, soUtary and sor- 
rowful. Now this man, whose steps 
were so unsteady that he seemed to 
fall into the pitfalls against his will 
and often unaware, hated his own 
uncleanness and counted himself 
unworthy the companionship of the 
white-robed men and women about 
him. And ever as he fell he loathed 
the more the mire which clung to 
him and thought himself the more 
unfitted to touch hands with the 
clean. But in his soul there was 
something, he knew not what, 
which sent him forward in spite of 
hurt and pain and mire. When he 
lay prone, a great sickness of heart 

50 



TH J T IV HI C H ABIDES 

smote him and a great longing for 
cleanness, and so, with shame and 
much defiled and with loathing of 
himself, he pressed on with little 
help, with many cold glances, with 
a deep sense of repulsion borne to 
him from many faces. 

At last, footsore and weary and 
faint in heart, he came to a place 
where the mist lay on the road and 
many halted, fearful of what might 
lie beyond ; but he, caring only to 
be clean and fleeing from his own 
defilement, ran into the mist. And, 
behold, the mist lifted and a fair 
country lay smiling about him, and 
hands were held out to him in wel- 
come. But when he looked into 

51 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

the pure faces of those who stood 
guardians of the country, he drew 
back, crying, in great agony of 
spirit, "I cannot enter, for I am 
unclean." 

And they smiled and pointed to 
his garments; and he looked, and, 
behold, his garments were like 
snow. And he stood trembling, 
knowing not what had befallen him 
and doubting if he were himself. 
And while he doubted, a voice 
came to him saying : *' In thy heart 
thou didst hate uncleanness and love 
purity, and that only which we love 
abides." 



52 



THE TOUCH OF NATURE 



THE TOUCH OF NATURE 

IT was the stillest of June morn- 
ings; nothing stirred save that 
deep, mysterious life which had 
risen again out of the heart of the 
earth, and, like some divine emo- 
tion, brought the soul of nature to 
shy disclosure. The flight of birds 
did not break the silence, and their 
songs seemed hardly to ripple the 
quiet of the solitude which folded 
all things in its heart. There was 
no priestess at the shrine; there 
were no sacred vessels of gold ; no 
censers swung; no chorused praise 

55 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

floated from adoring hearts like a 
mist heavenward; but the woods 
were silent with adoration, and the 
very earth seemed to worship in a 
deep quietude which was tremulous 
with life. A sense of infinite peace 
brooded over the place, and in the 
soft shadows of the trees a fragrant 
coolness enfolded and calmed and 
soothed. 

Into this refuge came a woman 
whose step was agitated and whose 
face was convulsed with anguish. 
She came alone, but something 
seemed to be pursuing her; she 
walked swiftly, fearfully, as if car- 
ried forward by dread of that which 
followed her. In the heart of the 

56 



'THE TOUCH OF NjrURE 

wood she paused a moment, struck, 
apparently, by a sudden recognition 
of the vast change between the 
world from which she had fled and 
that into which she had come; and 
it seemed as if an impassable gulf 
opened between her agitated spirit 
and the deep tranquillity of the 
shaded solitude. She glanced over 
her shoulder as if she half expected 
some torturing vision, as if some 
agonizing grief were swiftly ap- 
proaching ; but there was no stir in 
the woodland paths and the silence 
was unbroken. At a distance a 
clear, sweet, mysterious note floated 
upward, untouched by human pas- 
sion or care or toil; a note which 

57 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

flowed through the upper air with 
the purity, the stainlessness, the 
lonely freedom, of the mountain 
brook. The trembling woman lis- 
tened; it came again and again, 
borne to her as if from a distance, 
and bringing with it subtle sugges- 
tions of remoteness, of the ancient 
quiet of immemorial woods, of the 
vast, impersonal repose of nature, 
whose years are forgotten in the 
abyss of time. In that clear, pene- 
trating note, held in the air by the 
silence which it penetrated, nothing 
spoke to the woman's anguish, to 
her tortured fancy, to the throbbing 
pain in her heart; there was no 
tone of consolation for the grief 

58 



I 



THE TOUCH OF NJTURE 

which had driven her into that soli- 
tude; no balm for the suffering of 
the moment; but something was 
borne in upon her spirit; a sooth- 
ing and quieting touch was gently 
laid upon her soul. The measure- 
less life of the world spoke to the 
immortal life in her. 

She waited, still suffering, but 
calmed and expectant. And as she 
waited in the silence and solitude, 
with the distant song of the lonely 
thrush in her ears, the tumult in her 
heart subsided, the murky air of her 
mind cleared, the strain of her spirit 
relaxed. Out of the depths of 
the woods there came a solemn 
peace. 

59 



PARABLES OF LIFE 

She looked up, and through the 
network of trees the sky was radi- 
ant as of old; she looked back to 
the life from which she had fled, 
and she saw that her pain was only 
a part of it, and that the universe 
had not become a great instrument 
of torture ; that the place where 
she had suffered was only a point 
in a world which spread out to far 
horizons on every side; and the 
anguish which had seemed to en- 
velop earth and sky no less than 
her own heart appeared but an 
incident in an endless life. No 
voice yet spoke to her pain, but 
there came a calmness, a sanity, an 
opening of mind and heart for the 

60 



THE TOUCH OF NJTURE 

comfort which was moving toward 
her, borne onward by slow-footed 
time. She had found that quiet- 
ness which is the open door for the 
incoming of truth and strength and 
peace. 



6i 



OUT OF THE AGONY 



OUT OF THE AGONY 

IT was midday, and the sun beat 
on the course with merciless in- 
tensity; a cloud of dust hung over 
the track and enfolded the runners 
so that they saw neither the sky nor 
the crowd that waited and watched, 
excited, eager, ready to break into 
thunders of applause. They saw 
one another only indistinctly — 
vague figures moving in a suffocat- 
ing fog. The agony of the contest 
had entered their souls ; their faces 
were strained, sweat poured from 
them ; they ran with a silent, steady 

65 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

persistence that was full of pain and 
yet indifferent to it. The few who 
still ran had ceased to count suffer- 
ing ; that was part of the price of 
the reward, and they paid it with- 
out questioning. It was, after all, 
only a kind of acute fatigue, and the 
brave spirit makes sport of fatigue. 
The weak, the irresolute, the 
fickle-minded, had long since fallen 
out of the race. They had started 
with assurance on their faces ; for 
the course lay so clearly before them 
that it seemed but a little way to 
the goals shining in the fresh morn- 
ing air. There was an eager throng 
cheering the runners as they sped 
away from the starting-post, and 

66 



U 1' OF THE J G N T 

friendly faces and shouts lined the 
path or followed them long. It 
was pure pleasure to run in the 
bracing air, with flying competi- 
tors, with goals to guide the feet, 
and vociferous praise following like 
a noisy wave. But the distance 
lengthened, the morning passed, the 
heat grew bitter, the dust of racing 
feet rose in a suffbcating cloud, 
sweat ran from every pore, the strug- 
gle became agonizing. Those who 
were untrained, who had borne no 
yoke of discipline, who needed the 
stimulus of applause or of visible 
rewards, grew faint and weary and 
ceased to run. In the cloud of dust 
which moved along the course there 

67 



PARABLES OF LIFE 

was left only the little group of 
those whose sinews were steel, whose 
wills were iron, who cared neither 
for applause nor for rewards if only 
the race might be well run. They 
had ceased to hear the cheers so 
long that they had forgotten that 
there were any spectators ; they 
were so intent upon putting forth 
their full strength that they had 
ceased to think of the goals. They 
ran as if running were life and 
nothing else were worth while. 
They had given themselves to the 
race, they were paying the price; 
that was the whole of their simple, 
heroic story. 

And while they ran, long for- 

68 



OUT OF THE A G N T 

getful of all save the speed of the 
moment, the dust began to settle, 
the sky began to clear, the heat be- 
gan to pass, faces began to appear 
on either side, and sounds broke the 
silence. And, lo, when they had 
ceased to care for reward in the 
strain and stress of the trial, suddenly 
the goals shone clear and close at 
hand in the soft afternoon air, and 
long cheers thundered about them, 
and flowers rained from friendly 
hands, and crowns of wild olive 
were outstretched. 



69 



DREAM AND REALITY 



DREAM AND REALITY 

THE great square was thronged 
with busy people; Httle groups 
gathered and dispersed again with- 
out apparent reason or order; a 
murmur of confused sounds arose, 
some musical and many discor- 
dant; the noise of many kinds of 
work rose and fell with a rhythmic 
movement, in a unison which was 
without melody but not without 
dignity and power; the dust raised 
on the highways by many ap- 
proaching feet hung over the place, 
and the smoke of great chimneys 

11 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

obscured the heavens; tumult, dis- 
sonance, toil, and weariness per- 
vaded the place. Through the 
crowd an eager boy was trying to 
make his way. He had come from 
quiet places sweet with the breath 
of flowers; from the radiancy of 
soft skies, whence every night be- 
nignant stars had lighted his mus- 
ings; from great dreams which 
moved across his mind as the 
clouds drifted across the heavens, 
vague and formless but full of fer- 
tility; from visions which were 
more beautiful than the world he 
saw about him but not difl^erent 
from it — sublime fulfilments of 
visible and audible promises of per- 

74 



DREJM JND REJLI'Tr 

fection, divine completions of reali- 
ties. Out of the quiet valley in 
which the boy had played and 
shouted and taken the world into 
his heart, youth had led him up 
long and steep ascents to a great 
height, over which the sky seemed 
to bend, and from which far-stretch- 
ing landscapes and a great city were 
visible; and there, in the breadth 
and clearness of his vision, the boy 
had come to himself and knew 
that the dreams which had encom- 
passed his childhood were the fore- 
shadowings of the truth he was to 
find and to impart, the beauty he 
was to see and to set anew in some 
fresh and appeaUng form; for a 

75 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

man cannot reveal the truth until 
he has found it, nor make beauty 
flash again on many eyes until he 
has looked into its soul, not as it 
floats, serene, ineffable, and flawless, 
in some distant heaven, but as it 
shines through the substance and 
shape of realities. 

And so, led by his genius, the 
boy had come down from the 
heights into the market-place, for 
truth's sake and beauty's sake, and 
wandered about like a lost spirit, 
oppressed and bewildered by the 
tumult and disorder. The discords 
smote him like blows; the dust 
and smoke blinded him ; the up- 
roar and contention and ugliness 

76 



DREAM AND R E J L I "T T 

pierced him like arrows. He shrank 
from the touch of the gross and 
palpable imperfection about him ; 
his spirit cried out for the peace 
and serenity, the vision and beauty, 
of the valley where he had shouted 
in the joy of childhood, and the 
heights whence he had seen the 
things that were to be. 

Presently, as he wandered, with 
infinite homesickness in his heart, 
he began to discern here and there 
touches of beauty, hints of loveli- 
ness, foregleams of perfection. And 
as his soul fastened upon these 
fragmentary glimpses of the world 
which lay in his memory, remote 
and inaccessible, a new note became 

77 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

audible in the tumult, a new mean- 
ing seemed to flash for a second 
over the vast, tumultuous disorder — 
a note prelusive and prophetic, a 
meaning born of some vast pur- 
pose slowly and mysteriously being 
wrought out with men and tools; 
with iron, clay, and wood; in trial 
and strife and agony; in love and 
sorrow and life and death. 

As he caught this deeper mean- 
ing, borne in upon his spirit by the 
sighs and sobs and groans of men 
and women in that great multitude, 
his vision grew clearer and deeper, 
and he saw everywhere the signs 
and sorrows and joy of the work 
which every man does not only 

7^ 



DREAM AND REJLITT 

with his hands but with his soul; 
and slowly, through the dust and 
turmoil and smoke, he discerned 
the meaning of it all: the passing 
of truth into life, the birth of beauty, 
through anguish and sorrow, into 
visible form. 

Then he understood that the per- 
fection he had once looked upon, 
and which lay inviolate in his soul, 
had been wrought by Another; that 
it lay outside and apart from him 
and he had no place or share in its 
shaping. And so there came to 
him the discovery which comes to 
all lovers and makers of the good 
and the beautiful, to the creators 
whom men call artists, that the 

79 



PARABLES OF LIFE 

beauty in his memory was but a 
vision of delight until he made it 
real with his own hands in spirit or 
flesh or stone or wood. And the 
noisy place became still to him; 
and the crudity seemed about to 
take on noble shapes; and on the 
faces of his sorrowing, toiling fel- 
low-workers he saw the image of 
God slowly dawning like a glorious 
morning out of mist and darkness 
as they touched the stuff of mor- 
tality with the power and beauty 
of the immortal. 



80 



OUT OF PAIN 



OUT OF PAIN 

IT was a radiant world on which 
the boy opened his eyes; a 
world so beautiful that it was im- 
possible to look at it without seem- 
ing to see through it a richer and 
more wonderful loveliness about to 
rise out of its depths. It was a 
beauty which made the spirit faint 
with expectation and the heart ache 
with a sense of coming joy. In 
such a world all things were within 
reach of the eager soul, blithe with 
the bliss of the morning and eager 
to share the impulse of life which, 

83 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

like a fathomless tide, crept to the 
summits of the hills and left ver- 
dure and fragrance sweeping on 
behind it. The boy's eye was clear 
and keen; he saw at a glance the 
wonder of things in endless variety 
and exquisite adaptation. The boy's 
thought was orderly, coherent, vital ; 
he discerned the marvelous relation 
of parts to the whole and the glo- 
rious unity in which all things were 
held and harmonized. The boy's 
imagination kindled and glowed; 
the vision of an invisible loveliness, 
a higher and diviner beauty, rose 
before him as sight and thought 
brought the visible world closer to 
his spirit. The boy's will stirred 

84 



our OF PAIN 

with the slowly rising energy of a 
force at once concentrated and sus- 
tained. He stood there like a noble 
figure in a garden, touched with 
the glow of the morning, bathed 
in light, encompassed with the in- 
finite suggestiveness of a universe in 
which God's thoughts, sown in the 
furrows of the sea, the broad 
stretches of land, the measureless 
spaces of sky, bloomed in inde- 
scribable splendor, and on every 
wind set loose other seeds which 
should make fragrant the far limits 
of the universe. This marvelous 
world was silent, and he had a 
voice; this sublime mystery waited 
for interpretation, and he divined 

85 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

its meaning; this measureless force 
of life needed other wills and minds 
and hands, and he waited, eager 
and impatient, for his place and his 
task. All things were within his 
reach; all things summoned him. 

He put forth his hand, and sud- 
denly a throb of pain shot through 
it, and it fell by his side; he stepped 
forward, and a swift anguish smote 
him so that he paused, stunned and 
uncomprehending. These things 
were so strange in that fair scene, 
so much at variance with all he 
saw and divined, that he paused 
until they should pass; for they 
could be but fleeting touches of 
something alien and intrusive. But 

86 



U "T OF PAIN 

the pain did not pass; it became 
more intense. The anguish did 
not abate; it grew more bitter. 
Then, when he began to under- 
stand that these terrible things were 
part of the world, that world grew 
black and horrible before h's eyes; 
the light pierced and hurt him ; 
the beauty stung and maddened 
him. He was like one who slowly 
dies of thirst while the music of 
running water is in his ears, who 
slowly starves while fields of wav- 
ing grain encircle him. In the 
bitterness of that merciless denial 
of the claims of his soul for joy and 
beauty and work, he was ready to 
curse and die; for his life had 

87 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

turned to pain, and the loveliness he 
saw seemed a dream of madness. 

But he could not die, for he was 
immortal; nor could he shut out 
the loveliness of the world, for the 
image and memory of it lay like a 
vision in his mind. His will, which 
would have laid hold of noble tools 
for noble work, grew strong and 
stern and steadfast; for the boy, 
become a smitten and solitary man, 
was shut off not only from tasks 
but from fellowship with those who 
worked. In his loneliness and deso- 
lation only the inner voices spoke 
to him ; his companionship was with 
his own spirit. Presently thoughts 
began to rise out of the depths of 

88 



U "T OF P J I N 

his pain as they had once come to 
him out of the heart of the beau- 
tiful world — thoughts so deep and 
at times of such awful meaning that 
they made him forget his pain. And 
this power to rise out of pain grew 
with the strength it brought, and 
became a refuge and comfort to 
him. And as he suffered, silent 
and inactive, there came to him 
slowly the knowledge of that world 
of sorrow into which he had come; 
so near the world of beauty and 
yet seemingly so remote from it 
and so alien ; and in that world he 
was slowly transformed until he 
saw with other eyes and heard with 
other ears. 

89 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

When he found that something 
was being wrought within him, he 
became patient and waited ; for new 
hopes were beginning to stir in his 
heart and new dreams began to take 
wing in his imagination. Silent 
and soHtary as he was, these changes 
were unrecorded and left their traces 
only in the passing away of despair, 
the slow incoming of a tenderness, 
a sympathy, a wistful longing to 
succor and help, which had had no 
place in the unconsciousness of his 
radiant youth. And as the years 
went by, the tenderness in his soul, 
born of old-time sorrow, became a 
passionate impulse, and a great crav- 
ing awoke within him ; and one 

90 



U "T OF PAIN 

day he opened his eyes and looked 
once more, and, behold ! the world 
of his memory had vanished like a 
dream, and before him lay another 
world vaster and more awful and 
more divinely fair, not with the 
beauty which glows and fades but 
with that which discloses itself 
through the revelation of life, with 
the pressure on the spirit of the 
shaping hands of care and sorrow 
and bitter knowledge. And as he 
looked he was no longer alone, for 
the world was full of those who 
stumbled and fell and were heavily 
burdened and smitten with great in- 
firmities. And he, knowing the 
bitterness through which they were 

91 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

passing and seeing the end which 
was invisible to them, rose from his 
place and raised one and spoke to 
another; and for those whom he 
could not reach he lifted up his 
voice and sang the great song of 
love that knows not fear, and the 
song of consolation which follows 
it like a beautiful echo. Many 
looked at him, and, seeing on his 
face the deep lines of such grief 
as they bore, were comforted ; 
and many listened, and, hearing in 
his voice those deep tones which 
come out of great anguish, heeded 
and were helped. He, meantime, 
thought not of these things, but, 
seeing the unspeakable beauty shin- 

92 



OUT OF P J I N 

ing more and more clearly through 
cloud and storm and ugliness, pushed 
on eager and joyful, a mighty pas- 
sion of hope and helpfulness mov- 
ing with him. And when he 
paused, he suddenly became aware 
that he too still suffered; but he 
had forgotten himself. 



93 



TKE AWAKENING 



THE AWAKENING 

THE dream lasted long, and 
many times the man seemed 
about to awaken. The night wore on 
through many changes; shrouded at 
times in densest darkness, and at other 
times gloriously lighted bystars. Men 
moved through it in throngs, some- 
times like real persons, full of life 
and thought and will, and then like 
shadows, flitting pathetically from 
point to point, vague and dim and 
meaningless. Sometimes great tu- 
mults rose and fell on the night, 
and then a deep silence filled 

97 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

the hours and all things seemed 
asleep. 

The turmoil and the stillness 
touched the sleeper while he 
dreamed, but did not awaken him. 
He was conscious of the night, the 
storms, the silence, and the stars, 
and these things mingled with his 
dream, but did not mar its beauty. 

He dreamed that he was moving 
through a world marvelously beau- 
tiful and without limit of bound- 
ary, variety, or loveliness ; that other 
beings like himself bore him com- 
pany and kept the way with all bro- 
therliness, sweetness of fellowship, 
and joy in one another and in the 
common journey; that as they 

98 



1' H E J fP^ J K E N I N G 

moved, borne onward by pure im- 
pulse and kindling hope, each man's 
sight grew clearer, every man's 
heart warmer, all men's natures 
nobler; and as each man's vision 
cleared, the world through which 
he journeyed became more deeply 
and marvelously beautiful, as if the 
reality without were shaping itself 
to meet and match the growing no- 
bility of the spirit that looked and 
saw and understood. 

In the souls of all those that trav- 
eled there were secret hopes of per- 
fection, sacred passions for purity, 
deep and silent puttings forth of the 
heart for joys which were beyond 
the reach of speech ; and as they 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

moved forward every man came to 
his own, and found infinite easing 
of soul and fathomless peace in the 
harmony between his spirit and the 
world about him. For life had 
come to complete fulfilment in 
clarity of knowledge, in the perfect 
play of love, in beauty beyond the 
dreams of those divinely guided 
dreamers, the poets, in that health 
which is wisdom and joy and the 
deep living in which action instantly 
matches thought and a man's word 
and deed are clean as his love and 
true as his conscience. 

And beyond this fulfilment of 
life there rose a radiant prophecy 
of diviner visions and works and 

I GO 



"THE J IV J K E N I N G 

joys; a kindling of the sky as if a 
more radiant day waited below the 
horizon ; and beyond that, in end- 
less procession, the days of God, 
rich in power and knowledge and 
love and service forever and forever. 
And every man's spirit was aglow 
with that which filled his soul to 
the uttermost of the happiness of 
fullilled life, and every man's heart 
beat as he saw, like a far flight of 
the unfallen and the purified, the 
dawning of such bliss as the heart 
of man hath not conceived nor the 
mind of man pictured. And the 
air was full of fugitive strains of old 
songs sung in old homes which 
every man kept in his heart, and of 

lOI 



PJRJBLES OF LIFE 

far echoes of a music so deep and 
vast and unfathomably sweet that 
every man seemed to hear his own 
soul speaking, and knew that he 
was hearing the first notes of the 
ultimate harmony of life. 

And there fell a silence on the 
company so deep that every man 
heard the beat of his companion's 
heart and knew his thought; and 
behold, in all the company there 
was not one heart that was not 
pure nor one thought that was not 
sweet ; for the chord of self had 

"past in music out of sight." 

And while the man dreamed, he 
passed out of childhood into man- 

I02 



"THE JfVJKENlNG 

hood and through manhood into 
age, and his sleep became broken, 
and strange confusions of shadow 
and reahty came upon him, for the 
night was far spent. 

Suddenly he awoke, and, behold, 
even as he dreamed, so was it now 
that his sleep had gone. *' As yet 
lingers the twelfth hour and the 
darkness; but there will come an- 
other era when it shall be light, and 
man will awaken from his lofty 
dreams, and find — his dreams all 
there and nothing is gone save his 
sleep." 



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